


In The End

by Arcangelo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Based on Myself, Childhood Trauma, Depression, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Mature 'M' for Mature Themes, Mentions of 'Cure the Unnatural Away', Not Beta Read, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Self-Mutilation, Suicide, Transphobia, Transsexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:19:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcangelo/pseuds/Arcangelo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was hiding a secret, something he had kept buried deep inside since he was five years old. The dark secret cost him his life. Harry had never asked for help, never tried to find others like him, he felt different, unnatural, only when he his heart was beating no more was he free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The End

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on my own feelings when I struggle with gender dysphoria on a daily basis. I've seen many writers write about gender dysphoria, most were accurate, some not so much, some were melo-dramatic. These are my inner most thoughts that I constantly contemplated suicide because of the constant wrongness that I didn't belong in my own body. I thought I'd share with you guys through fanfiction I guess.

* * *

Harry was tired, physically, emotionally and mentally. He was tired of the constant pressures that are constantly put on him. Be it by Ginny, Hermione, Ron or even just the wizarding world in general. He could never be himself, he has to hide ― keep quiet, don’t let anyone know how you feel. He had learned that lesson well ― growing up in the wizarding world since he was eleven years old. Be seen, but not heard.

Also, dealing with his own personal issues that he had kept quiet for years. He had never felt right in his skin, everything about him felt wrong, from the broad shoulders ― the facial hair he began to develop, the deeper voice. Everyone felt out of place, he felt like he didn’t belong. Days, upon days he spent screaming himself hoarse shouting at the God’s why he was born in his body, why couldn’t he be in the body he had chosen for himself, what he had envisioned for himself.

After all this time, he had grown numb. Numb to the pain ― numb to the constant struggle ― numb to sadness ― numb to any feelings at all. Of course, people around him didn’t notice, whether it be related to the war or their own personal world. He didn’t blame them, they didn’t go through the constant struggle of wanting to end your life daily just because you were born in the wrong body.

No one, no one that he knew understood. He learned to keep quiet when he was only five years old, he was caught trying on his Aunt Petunia’s lipstick ― he had gotten the beaten of his life, told he was freakish, he was unnatural, it’s not something that boys did. Girls wore lipstick, girls wore skirts, girls could look pretty.

But not boys, never boys.

Freaks should be seen not heard, Harry. That’s what Petunia had told him, he didn’t deserve love, he didn’t deserve food, he didn’t deserve clothes. If that’s what you could call them. Disgust, he had learned to hate himself ― hate his sex ― hate his gender ― hate his parents. He loathed his parents for bringing him into this cruel world, why couldn’t he could be who he wanted?

Was that too much to ask for? Why couldn’t be himself? Why did he have to wear masculines clothes ― walk and talk in masculines ways.

_Be seen, not heard. Be seen, not heard. Freaks aren’t allowed to feel. Freaks aren’t allowed to feel. You are disgusting, unnatural. You are disgusting unnatural. You don’t deserve to live, to breath the same air that I do. You’re dirty, you’re filthy, you’re unworthy._

Those were the words carved into his skin, all over, a constant reminder of what he was. Or, rather, what he wasn’t. What he couldn’t be, his worth and how little it was. He was insignificant, a pawn to be disposed. A lamb ― a sheep sent to slaughter, isn’t that what Snape said. His words could never rang more true in this moment.

He was crying out ― never realising it was all in his head. His constant shouts, all in his head. His agony, burning, fiery pain that constantly made him feel weak in his knees were his own personal agony. His emotional agony, his own emotional pain was being reflected into physical pain. He deserved it, he was disgusting, unnatural, freakish, dirty, he would never be clean.

He had unclean thoughts, that’s what the priest said. He was unclean, who better to trust than a man of the cloth? He was unholy, the priest said. Unnatural, abomination, devil worshiper, possessed by Satan. He needed to be exorcised, let the demons out. If only it was that easy, Satan was after all just a fallen angel, one of the most beautiful of the archangels. He was the morningstar, he sang God’s praises, he loved god _too much._ He didn’t want to bow to the whims of humanity and Harry couldn’t blame him.

His own father trapped him in his own prison, because he loved him too much, Harry thought bitterly. He pitied Lucifer, he sympathised with him on some unknown level. He could _understand._

As Harry felt blood drip from his wrist, copious amounts of blood. He sighed in relief, he was finally free, no more pressure, no more sadness, no more dysphoria, no one sense of wrongness of his very presence when he looked at himself in the mirror.

_No more._

His eyes rolled to the back of his head, with a smile of his face he whispered, _I’m free_ as he slumped against the freezing cold tub. That’s how he was found, a smile on his face ― a still no longer beating heart and graying skin. This was the happiest that anyone had ever seen him, in the eyes of death was he able to find release from his constant torment.

Harry Potter had looked into the eyes of death with a smile on his face. Nothing could make him happier than to be forever gone from the mortal plane, the wizarding world, he was better off dead. He had finally found peace with himself, he no longer suffered.

For the first time in his life since his parents had died, he suffered no more.

* * *

 


End file.
